


The Call

by cherry619



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, POV Roman Reigns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:47:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25139479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherry619/pseuds/cherry619
Summary: "Roman had come to rely on those calls like he relied on oxygen. Almost as if he would go deprived if he didn’t receive one. It was a guaranteed way to make his mood instantly brighten."
Relationships: Dean Ambrose | Jon Moxley/Roman Reigns
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	The Call

**Author's Note:**

> So this was inspired by a kink meme prompt: https://wrestlingkink2.dreamwidth.org/423.html?thread=691367#cmt691367. I kind of made it very subtle with very few dialogue because I wanted to showcase how Dean and Roman's relationship exists without words more often than not. I hope I got that point across. I hope you enjoy it.

He gets the call late one evening right around 11:30.

The call is different than most of the other passive phone calls they’ve had in the past. For starters, the call never comes this late at night. It almost always occurred early in the morning. No matter the distance between them it always came at a time convenient for Roman. There was no shooting the breeze, no discussion of favorite cartoons or even a simple ‘how ya doin?’ chat that was always polite if a little awkward.

Roman had come to rely on those calls like he relied on oxygen. Almost as if he would go deprived if he didn’t receive one. It was a guaranteed way to make his mood instantly brighten.

Except this call wasn’t like the other calls. There was no ‘my brother’ rumbling out of the other end of the line, gruff and full of emotions that neither man dared confess over the phone. It always managed to shoot straight to Roman’s core each time he heard it. He would affectionately reply ‘that’s my boy’ right back, all smiles. He’d find a place to ease back for a while, whether that’d be a car, a hotel bedroom or even next to a gas station. He’d prepare himself to be standing, laying or sitting for at least two hours.

Sometimes talking about nothing at all. Just being comforted by the sound of his voice. Letting Roman know he was alive and well and that, despite his new life, he always had time to think of Roman. Always called at least once a week to check up on him, ask him how he’s been, if he decided to cut off his mane yet, or what embarrassing story about Seth did he have to share.

Stupid shit. Shit brothers talked about. Shit that really masked the real questions they wanted to ask, statements they wanted to make. _I miss you so much. Why did you leave me? I’m worried about you. Please come back to me._

Statements that Roman would always try to muster up the courage to say. Then the time came when pleasantries would be said. A simple ‘talk to you soon man’ or ‘call ya next week’. The dial tone from the phone would echo in his ear a cruel reminder of his cowardice from saying what he really felt.

This call. Unlike the hundreds they’ve likely shared so far was so far beyond normal it sent Roman on edge.

He doesn’t even think that Roman’s name was muttered once in the whole conversation. It was simply an ‘I need you’. Three words but words that masked so much more. Words that _meant_ so much more. Roman wanted to rejoice. Roman wanted to go straight to the airport and fly off to wherever he was at because _yes_ , Roman needed him too. Roman needed him like he needed wrestling. Like he needed air. He was the life force for which Roman managed to roll out of bed every day. He always had been. Always would be.

However, for as many months they had been apart Roman could still tell when something was wrong. This wasn’t a declaration of undying love. This was a declaration of desperation. Roman heard it in the way his voice had dropped a few octaves, and in the way it sounded like everything was coming out muffled and scratchy. It was a voice he typically wasn’t used to hearing unless he was drunk or hurt.

It terrified Roman down to his very core. He didn’t really need to say anything back other then ‘where’. There was no asking or in Roman’s case demanding what had happened. He knew from personal experience he wouldn’t share the info so easily over the phone anyway, so the point was moot.

Demands, harsh words and anger wasn’t what he needed right now. Roman could save that for later and direct that at whatever or whoever he needed to, but he wasn’t going to respond to that.

He just needed someone there with him.

Which is why he had both hands tightened on the wheel of his car with his foot almost maxing out the peddle, barreling down the highway to his latest destination. St. Louis was a town he’s been in dozens of times himself. A lot of the time with him. It was rote memory at this point.

Luckily, he wasn’t as far out as he feared. He didn’t think he’d stomach a few hours plane ride with the current thoughts eating away his brain.

Thoughts of worry and panic, thoughts of anxiety at finally seeing him face to face again. Thoughts of pure, unbridled rage that coursed through his veins just begging to be unleashed. A rage he doesn’t think he’s had since he had left.

He wasn’t sure what his rage was directed at. Whether it was the situation or himself.

He just knows one thing. He can’t _bear_ to hear his voice sound like that _again._ He just can’t. So, he’d do anything possible to try and fix the situation even if he didn’t know what the situation was.

_Fix their situation._ Sometimes it scared him the lengths he was willing to go, the things he’d be willing to do. How he would willingly give every part of his being for him, _to_ him. It’s a feeling unlike any he’s had in his life. Likely a feeling that he wouldn’t find with anyone else either.

His phone sat on the passenger seat of the car. Silent. Softly gliding and bumping the faster he’d go.

He glared at it. Almost feeling a bit betrayed that the phone allowed that call to come through. A call so unlike any of the others it had the complete opposite effect on him.

Doused him with a bucket of ice water, spit in his face, kicked him when he’s down. But yet, this is likely the first phone call where Roman felt they were closer than they had been in months. Closer to rediscovering what they had all along.

Resolve in mind, Roman pushed on the peddle harder.

* * *

It’s 3:42am when he pulls up to the shady looking motel off one of the major highways.

The bright neon sign is missing a few letters so instead of reading “The Cozy Inn” it more so read “He zy In”. Maybe it was just because he hadn’t had any sleep as of yet today. He pushed himself past his limits and was on edge. Jittery and amped up unlike any time before.

So, the sign was basically flashing “he was in”. And if that wasn’t a sign from above Roman doesn’t know what was.

It was lightly drizzling outside when Roman opened his car door and finally lumbered out, stretching his aching muscles, and popping a few joints with a low groan. Rain was misting his otherwise dry hair which in a few hours would turn into a poufy nightmare if he didn’t get out of the rain soon.

He walked around the side of the building, underneath the staircase right to where he described his room would be. Room 116 on the bottom floor, to the left of the entrance past the staircase on the side of the building.

Despite himself a small smile comes to his lips. It’s definitely a room he’d pick. Pushed away from everything, with sufficient enough coverage but also enough room to escape if need be.

Breathing in deeply Roman twisted the door open easily, frowning at how low the security was in the room.

There was only one lamp on when Roman stepped in and shut the door softly. It illuminated _his_ face in a soft haze almost making him appear angelic.

He was seated on the bed jeans pulled on but unbuttoned, a simple black shirt, and a cigarette resting in his hand permeating the air with its foulness. 

Roman wrinkled his nose but his features evened out when he breathed out his name. “Dean.”

He may be Jon Moxley now, but he’ll always be Dean to him.

That one word almost cracked Dean completely. Roman can tell based on the way his hand shook, fighting to pull the cigarette back to his lips for one more puff before stamping it out in the ashtray on the nightstand.

The closer Roman walked to him the more the shaking increased. Roman finally was able to get a damn good look at his face and had to hold in a gasp at the black eye he was sporting. It obviously was recent since it didn’t really turn an ugly shade of purple yet, but it was fast turning into one mottled mess of purples and blues.

Roman’s hands reached out, instinctively but pulled back. He was hesitant. They weren’t like they used to be. Maybe his touch wouldn’t be wanted but one glance into Dean’s glassy blue eyes and Roman knew that Dean wouldn’t ask him but he _needed_ it.

So Roman reached out again, stepping closer until his hand gently cupped the younger mans cheek smoothing over the growing bruise until he was traveling upwards and softly running his hands through his hair.

Dean breathed out shakily, resolve totally crumbling. His own hand made its way to Roman’s hip and gripped on tightly.

“Whose ass do I have to kick?” Roman asked with a frown, anger building.

“Mine.” Dean stated gruffly pulling his hand away making Roman do the same. They both stared at each other obviously the question of ‘yours?’ on Roman’s lips but he didn’t want to push so he simply asked, “how do I make it better?”

“Fuck me.” Was all Dean asked. A needy, breathless whisper that sounded so torn and broken that Roman almost couldn’t stand it.

All those months of awkward conversations, veiled attempts at being nice, remaining in contact but literally not talking about anything at all.

It was everything Roman wanted like a dream, but it was a rather ugly, horribly twisted dream. Much like a nightmare. Like someone had read Roman’s mind and then asked themselves, ‘how can we make this happen in the most fucked up way possible?’. How could Roman accept that? Accept _this_?

But then Dean looked up at him again, his hand went right back to Roman’s hip and gripped, this time hard enough to leave bruises. His eyes and hands _begged_ outright pleaded with Roman to not ask questions and just do it. Roman was torn between a rock and a hard place.

“Oh, _baby_ boy.” Roman breathed hand smoothing over Dean’s pale one currently gripping onto him for dear life. Dean had long since hung his head in obvious shame. Roman could feel it radiating off his muscular back.

Roman’s resolve finally started to crack when he watched how much Dean’s shoulders were shaking. He was vulnerable and scared. Roman wasn’t sure of what exactly. But Roman knew that Dean Ambrose didn’t just get all weak in the knees, shaking in fear scared like he was now. Something obviously rattled him enough to need comfort.

After all, Roman took his job of big brother seriously. Switching to an intimate relationship was just another way he could take care of Dean. Another way to express how much Dean meant to him.

Roman tugged on the small tuft of Dean’s hair gently, just hard enough to pull his head up from where it was currently hanging, avoiding eye contact. Their eyes met once, steel blue eyes meeting dark brown before Roman was pushing Dean back gently, straddling his hips, head immediately bending down and seeking out Dean’s soft mouth.

For as cliché and horrible as it sounded to Roman it was like fireworks ignited. Suddenly Roman’s body came alive, warmth spreading through him until he felt like he was burning up inside if he didn’t disrobe himself and Dean right the fuck now.

Dean moaned his eyes fluttered back in pure bliss leaving a smile on Roman’s face when he pulled back up. Roman still had it.

Roman’s hands found Dean’s undone jeans and started to lightly shimmy them off his hips.

The more Dean’s jeans came off the more Roman’s eyes widened.

Red angry welts crisscrossed his thighs. Some painfully raised and others weeping bits of blood. Roman flashes back to only a few short seconds ago when his 260-pound body basically leapt on top of the man. Roman feels horrified thinking he might have unintentionally hurt him in some way. Roman softened his ministrations breathing in heavy and erratic unlike before. His eyes sought out Dean’s, demanding to have an answer.

Dean stared back at him defiantly, eyes dull and lifeless. All he could offer up was a mumbled “I’m sorry”, to explain what had happened. Didn’t show a hint of pain, not even a wince. Roman looked at the welts again and they looked painful he could only imagine how they fucking felt.

Roman didn’t like putting two and two together but the more he removed Dean’s clothes the more math he was forced to do.

Those same red welts lit up Dean’s abdomen all the way up to his pecs. Awful looking, painful marks that almost looked like brands if Roman didn’t know any better. But after having suffered kendo sticks to the back Roman knew these welts were more like whip marks.

Roman’s hand ghosted over Dean’s stomach making it flutter under his touch. His urgency to disrobe them both depleted at the horror he was witnessing before him. It almost made him ill.

“I’m going to expect an answer.” Roman finally ground out, hand clenching into a fist.

He heard Dean sigh, could feel it in the way his legs shook underneath him. “I know.”

Roman swallowed. Debating on if, fucking _how_ he could possibly even go through with this right now.

Roman was close to bursting at the seams; mentally, physically, emotionally, and sexually. It was all molding together into one giant blob of misery.

He squeezed his eyes tightly together, pushing back tears that wanted to escape and breathed in deeply. Roman used his arms to lean across Dean’s body inching closer to his face. He buried his head in the crook of his neck, making sure to never lean all of his weight on him at once and whispered, “are you sure you want this?”

He felt more than heard Dean breathe out harshly the wet warmth penetrating deep into the skin of his neck.

A gravelly, “yes” was all he needed to hear.

Before Roman pulled away completely to disrobe himself, he pulled back just enough to lean in and place a soft, chaste kiss on the younger man’s lips. “I want names.” Is all he whispered back knowing that Dean fully knew what that meant, and it didn’t need a reply.

The inhale Dean took told Roman that he got the message loud and clear.

Further inspection of Dean’s body had Roman finding other injuries from bruises and cuts to fucking bite marks that littered his collarbone. It had Roman seeing red. He wanted to erase the marks, replace them with his _own_ but his marks would never leave sickening indentations in the skin or ugly, mottled bruises damaging perfectly beautiful tanned muscles.

Dean was waiting underneath him pliant. If Roman focused enough he could hear him breathing in deeply each inhale and exhale more jittery then the first one. Dean was slowly working himself up, his body recognizing that Roman was on top of him, Roman’s hands were softly touching him, his hair was hanging down and tickling his neck.

Roman pulled back slowly letting his hands slide down his body. Goosebumps rose soon after on Dean’s arms and even his thighs. Roman could see the bumpy skin and hair stand on end in the shitty motel lighting.

He started by taking off his grey t-shirt first, flinging it to the ground before he was stepping off the bed for a minute to undue his own jeans, taking off his shoes and throwing them in the pile as well.

Next, and Roman made sure he caught Dean’s eyes when he did this, he slowly pulled down his boxers revealing his own erection that started insistently pressing against his zipper the more he touched Dean.

Dean watched him with half lidded eyes and a lazy smile on his face, hands behind his head just waiting and breathing. Roman could easily see Dean’s erection tenting his own boxers.

“Like what you see, baby boy?” Roman cocked an eyebrow at Dean who did nothing but vigorously shake his head up and down. Roman was at least happy to see him excited.

“Gonna fuck you so good, baby.” Roman mumbled. “Lift up your hips a little bit.” Dean obliged and Roman gently slid his boxers off the best he could. He thought he might have heard a slight wince, but he quickly replaced the sound with a moan when he went down and swallowed Dean in one go.

Dean arched up. Hands no longer behind his head but tangling in Roman’s hair.

“Fuck Ro....” Dean groaned; a loud filthy moan that shook Roman. Roman started a slow but gentle pace just wanting Dean on the edge enough to really enjoy it. 

“Fuck, fuck fuck.... _son of a bitch_.” Curses spewed from Dean’s mouth with no real meaning or reason. Dean often rambled a bit when he was getting his dick sucked. It was just a little quirk that he adored about Dean.

Pulling off with a wet sounding plop, spit hanging from his mouth he gently eased Dean’s thigh up just enough that he could see his round ass. Roman started jacking himself off, muttering as he went along. “God, forgot how nice your ass was. Your fucking thighs...god damn it. I could come just from staring at your muscles.”

It was true. Dean Ambrose was in the absolute best shape of his life. There was often times that Roman enjoyed manhandling and overpowering a much smaller version. However, an entirely new thrill replaced the joy he got out of that. Being able to dominant Dean’s new stockier form was something that Roman didn’t really know he’d love until he was right here in this moment.

Everywhere he touched, grabbed or grasped was solid muscle. Every moan, shiver, shake, or grunt coming from Dean resulted in his body tightening and spasming in pleasure. Sweat lined the indents his abs created making Roman want to just run his hands through it.

However, once again seeing the red welts decorating his body had him hesitating.

“Where’s the lube?” Roman asked, his hand releasing its grip on his dick and setting down Dean’s thigh.

“Wuh....” Dean slurred, eyes fluttering open, confused at the loss of contact. “Don’t need lube.”

“That’s not how this works. We’re doing this my way and I want lube. Is it in your bag?” Roman was already walking over to the black bag sitting by the door. He could hear Dean grumble but couldn’t make out any of the words. He’d imagine a huge pout was sitting on his face for having to wait.

Dean was not a patient man.

Scrummaging through the bag eventually produced what he was looking for. He squeezed some liberally until his dick was slick enough for his liking and walked back over to Dean.

He wanted to be sure again. That this was the right thing. “You good?”

“I’d be a hell of a lot better if you were in me right now but yeah, I’m good.” Roman didn’t believe him. His eyes told a different story, but he knew that right in this moment Dean needed this.

Roman got back up on the bed, lifting Dean’s left thigh gently, just high enough so that he could line himself up. He watched Dean the whole time as he entered.

Dean’s “fucking hell” overshadowed his grunt of “fuck yeah” by a few decibels. He actually had to pat the man’s thigh to remind him to be steady and calm.

“God,” Roman groaned pushing in lazily while throwing his head back. “Fucking missed this. Missed _you_.”

He set up a slow pace that slowly progressed in speed. Watching Dean’s reactions alone often got him off quicker than the actual fucking sometimes.

The way Dean’s head couldn’t stay still on the pillow, or the curses as he would jolt when Roman hit a good spot that would fly out of his mouth with no regard. 

“Keep going.” Dean begged, downright pleaded. Urging Roman to go faster and deeper.

Dean’s hands were spastically twitching at his sides. Wanting to grip onto something so badly that they started to cramp. Roman reached with the hand that wasn’t holding up one of his legs and leaned over to grab one. He squeezed letting Dean know he was there. That he was always going to be there.

When Roman was close to being done, he knew Dean was on the cusp too. He reached out with his hand and started to jack Dean off in tune to his thrusts. Dean’s rambling got significantly louder.

“Fuck yeah, oh fuck... _Roman_. Fucking want you.”

“You have me.” Roman grunted out, reminding him gently. “You _have_ me.”

With that, Dean was coming ropes of white silkiness shooting out and coating Roman’s hand. Roman followed soon after with a shout he muffled into Dean’s leg.

Roman pulled out a few moments later grimacing but refusing to leave Dean’s side. He simply made himself fit alongside Dean’s body, being mindful of the cuts and welts. Patiently waiting for Dean’s blue eyes to open again after he got his bearings.

It seemed like an hour had passed with Roman just laying down with his head propped up in his hand watching Dean breathe. If it were anyone else, you’d think Dean was sleeping but Roman knew that he was simply avoiding the conversation.

“Dean.” One word. It’s funny how their conversations never usually comprise of a whole lot, but each word has so much meaning.

Dean finally moved. Slinging an arm over his eyes. Hiding. “I fucked up.”

Roman waited, knowing that Dean would continue when he was ready. He toyed with Dean’s side, lightly ghosting his hands down his ribcage enjoying the way the muscles pulled.

“I let this guy fuck me. I thought-” Dean inhaled sharply obvious pain in his voice. “Fuck, I thought that if I let him hurt me that it would get rid of the emptiness inside but-”

“It didn’t.” Roman finished. He had already come to the same conclusion, but his heart felt like bursting hearing Dean confirm it.

“He wouldn’t stop. I said no, _begged_ the guy but he wouldn’t stop.”

Roman swallowed sharply. Rage beginning to seep back into his psyche. Dean was...Dean was...he couldn’t finish the sentence. Couldn’t dare speak it since it would make it real.

“I’m sorry.” Dean offered again pulling back his arm from his face and staring at Roman. He wasn’t crying but now that Roman had more focus he could easily see the tear tracks glistening on his cheeks, see how red and inflamed his black eye was getting. His mind put the puzzle pieces together like a jigsaw, but he felt horrible in doing so.

Nothing Roman could do or say could really fix it.

“I love you.” Roman offered with a smile.

Dean laughed, a throaty laugh that sounded way too wet for his liking. “God I fucking missed you.”

“Back at ya babe.”

* * *

When morning came it forced the two men to finally take a shower. Dean was feeling a lot more alive than he was last night. His eyes were a bit clearer and his wounds looked to be faintly scabbing over. Roman made sure to help him clean each one out, his hand shaking on the sponge and his teeth grinding so tightly against each other he thought they might crack.

Dean gave him a name. However meaningless the name was. Roman wasn’t sure what he was going to do with the information. It wasn’t anyone they knew. Likely a drifter Dean had picked up that knew of him vaguely enough.

Dean didn’t say much more about the encounter. Preferring to forget it happened. Roman wasn’t going to push him either. Figuring if Dean had more to say he’d say it in his own time.

When it came time for Roman to leave, he hovered at the door, Dean hanging on the door frame too.

Roman rubbed the back of his neck. “Can you try calling during the night?”

Dean quirked a small smile. “Is the great Roman Reigns actually asking for a _call_ and not a _text_?”

Roman imagined hearing Dean’s voice at night. A hand slowly winding past his sweatpants to his hard dick, slowly jacking himself off to the sound of Dean’s voice. Something sexting couldn’t provide.

“Are you saying the great Dean Ambrose is objecting the call, the mighty old school communication?” Roman teased knowing that Dean preferred phone calls. He hated texts and hated trying to figure out video messaging.

“What can I say I’m a basic guy.”

“Wait until I teach you how to send pictures through text it’ll rock your world.” Roman leaned in for one more kiss goodbye. His hand slotting itself behind Dean’s head and holding him there. Tongues and teeth clashed hoping to remember what each other felt like for those days when only a phone call could happen.

Dean’s hand found its way to Roman’s shirt gripping it tightly in his hands until they both pulled away.   
Dean leaned his head against Roman’s. Like old times.

“Send me the first pic tonight.” Dean said with a wink, pulling back and waving him off back to wherever WWE was taking him.

Roman fucking _loved_ phone calls.


End file.
